I WILL be in France following the Warriors when you read this. They’re playing a European Challenge Cup game in Bourgoin which is not far from Lyon, France’s second biggest city after Paris.

It’s a place I have never been to before. I left it a bit late to book a hotel and paid the price because everything was full.

It seemed a bit strange for early December, but it turns out it’s the Festival of Light in Lyon.

In the end we had to book a hotel about 20 miles from Lyon, so it should be fun. The game takes place tonight and I’ll be back in time for the Male Voice Choir concert in Pershore tomorrow night.

Talking, or writing, about rugby, I was in Watford on Sunday for the game against Saracens.

They play at the football ground and, no disrespect to that club, it really is a depressing place. It was not helped by the appalling weather, but the main stand is empty apart from the press and even the pub on the corner of the Vicarage Road ground is shut.

It did bring back some memories though. I used to go there with my Uncle Bert, who was a big fan of Watford Football Club. He lived just up the road in Chorley Wood and some of the relatives are still there.

Uncle Bert used to go and watch Watford in the old Third Division South and I remember going as a nipper with my cousin Alan. I still have the programmes.

Although I had been to a few games at Worcester City, most of my sporting experience had been watching Martley Spurs, so going to a big game was very different.

Uncle Bert lived to see Watford play in the old Division One and the Premiership, and we went with him to the 1984 FA Cup final when they were beaten by Everton in the days when Elton John was the chairman.

I won’t forget him strolling out of the ground after that game, chatting away to the Scousers as if he was walking the dog down to the paper shop.

Talking of remembering things, I went to a very good party on Saturday night. We knew a fair number of people, but there was a lady present who I thought ‘I know you’.

It was one of those times when you are not quite sure how or why you know them.

I am not saying it puzzled me all evening but it was at the back of my mind when suddenly it came to me – she was the sister of someone I knew 30-plus years ago.

How strange is the memory?

Something reminded me who this lady was from all those years ago and yet I forget to put the bin bags out some weeks and I’m sat here now and I can’t tell you where I left my car keys.